


Call My Name

by JaqofSpades



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Not a Crossover more an inspired by, TSC prompt 295, The Breakfast Club - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4844813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles Matheson meets a girl in detention.  Will she call his name, or walk on by?  And why the hell is Bass so pissed off by the whole thing anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Second Coming at The Orgy Armada: Prompt 295. "Calvins in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night" for Emma/Miles AND Bass/Emma. That's a direct quote from The Breakfast Club, and while this isn't a crossover, it's definitely an inspired-by type AU. And as with most things about Bass and Emma, it turned into another exploration of 'why the hell WOULD Bass sleep with Miles' girlfriend anyway?'

They meet in detention. He’s in there for no good reason at all - okay, maybe stubbing his blunt out on the rotting wood of the bleachers wasn’t his brightest moment, but it’s not like he was trying to set the place on fire. Not his fault the facilities here are so fucking decrepit the place was just waiting to go up. Probably did them a favour – and she waltzes in, gives him the stink-eye and promptly sits at the other end of the room.

He makes a show of getting up and stomping round the room to slide into the seat right next to hers. Feet on top of her desk, of course. He’s just that kind of asshole.

But she’s some of kind bitch, too, because she knocks his feet to the floor, and gets right up in his face – practically standing on his boots! – to tell him off. Something about manners and personal space and how he really needs a haircut. Bitch.

Sexy bitch, his cock insists, and Miles can’t help but agree as her green eyes gleam with fury. And isn’t red hair supposed to mean a girl is gonna be truly wild in the sack? He can believe it with this one, so by the time she’s done ranting, big Miles is pretty much standing to attention.

Maybe he can blame that fucker for the shit that comes out of his mouth.

“That get rid of your frustration, baby? Feel better now? Hey, I’m always here when you wanna go off. Your own, personal, punching bag,” he sleazes, and fuck, even he knows it’s too much.

But he’s Miles Matheson, so if he’s gonna dig a grave, he’s gonna dig deep.

“And if that don’t work – I know something that might.” He drops his eyes down the front of her body, and waggles his tongue in a crude facsimile of all the things he’d like to do to her. (It’s not gross, right? The other guys said it was, but he figures they had to be lying, because when he’d finally convinced Tanya T to let him, let’s just say New. Favourite. Thing.)

So he’s doing this little firecracker of a redhead a favour by letting her know all the rumours are true.

“Oh. You’re offering to … goodness. Sorry. If didn’t realise you were willing to trade sexual favours for _common decency_!”

Her disdain stings a little – fuck she’s hot – but he’s not about to let her see that. Makes a big show of selecting the next chair along, trying not to be amused by the way she ignores him for the first hour. He figures if Dick’s on his case, it means he’s leaving these poor, clueless fucks alone, and hey, he’s used to being the vice principal’s shit magnet.

He can feel her gaze on him as he throws everything he has at the petty, loathsome, waste-of-space fucked up excuse for a teacher. He’s either showboating or just plain inspired, but whatever it is Dick goes apeshit and stomps out to do whatever it is he does for hours on end during these Saturday detentions.

Miles passes the time by hassling the kid who’d reprogrammed the school’s computers to give everyone As – for some reason, he sees detention as failing, and is actually stressing about being here. Somehow, picking on him turns into explaining exactly how his little exercise in anarchy has the whole school in debt to him.

“My Dad was going to cut my allowance if I didn’t pass chemistry,” Emma stresses, and knocks the fat kid – Aaron – with her shoulder. “Seriously – my winter wardrobe thanks you.”

“My Dad usually makes me do six million fucking burpees out back every time I bring home my grades, but this time he was so shocked to see me passing something that he just hit me instead,” Miles snorts. “Now he thinks I have actual scholastic aptitude or some shit like that, and have just been wasting my talents all these years. Thanks for that, geek.”

“To be fair, you probably have been wasting your talents,” the kid points out, but at least he’s not sniffling anymore, so Miles allows it.

“Hey! I put a lot of effort into siphoning off my Dad’s whiskey without being caught while simultaneously procuring the best weed this shithole town has to offer!” he points out, and after that it’s just a hop, skip and a jump (plus one highly planned sortie to his locker) to blazing up and rocking out.

Miles doesn’t even try to keep his eyes off the redhead as she shimmies and sways to some New Romantic shit that makes her close her eyes and undulate her body like she’s begging him to put his hands all over it. His palms are practically itching to comply, but he knows the score with chicks like that. They want him to want them, but are too fucking afraid of him to let it happen.

When they all sit in a circle and sing kumbaya, though, she starts to unbend. Classic rich girl story – Mommy and Daddy are all about appearances and wouldn’t know good literature if they fell over it – and she doesn’t bristle too much when he points out she’s got it good. Nobody’s hitting her, or throwing shit at her, or kicking her out of the house when she comes home drunk.

“Shocker! Your mother doesn’t like it when you come home drunk,” the wrestler asshole sneers at him, and yeah, he probably can’t take the guy, but that isn’t gonna stop him trying.

But then the tiny bit of a thing pushes between them, forces him backwards with the weight of her body and he’s still trying to swing at the guy over her head when has to stop because she’s gonna get hurt if he doesn’t.

“What the fuck, girl?” he bellows, and she stands up even straighter, little chin high and proud.

“My name is Emma. Not ‘girl’. And you two can bleed on your own time all you like, but Mr Vernon will be back soon, and we’ll all get in trouble, so knock it off.”

The other guy – Jackson, Hudson, something like that – grumbles but backs down, so Miles does the same, burying his face in his folded arms as if these numbskulls are just too boring to keep his attention.

His eyes are burning and where the _fuck_ is Bass when he needs him? Baseball? At least with football they both got to play, but … yeah. Apparently showing up drunk to practice doesn’t help you throw the ball any. Not like he wanted to play anyway.

He only ever did sports because his Mom liked to see him on the field. No point now. Not like Dad ever made it to a game.

Maybe he’d put his football on her grave.

“You okay?”

Little Miss Green Eyes is all worried for him. I’m not worth it girl, he thinks, but he lifts his head and gives her a slow smile. “Nope. Wanna know how you can help?”

She snorts and walks away. Any other day, and that would’a been that. Good girls don’t play with stoner dudes like him. But then she rescues his stash, and he pulls the heat off of her when the Dick gets mad. And when he ends up in that broom closet, she comes visiting.

It’s half a tease, half foreplay when he tries to pin down exactly how far she likes to go. After all, a man needs to know these things.

She’s been kissed. With tongue. Little bit of nipple action.

Never had a guy’s hand in her panties.

“Scared you might like it?” he challenges, and watches the colour race up from her chest. She still fires back, though, and he has to hide his admiration at the way she just drips scorn.

“Hardly. I manage just fine by myself, thanks,” she says, one finely shaped eyebrow lifting just enough to tell him that, fuck yes, that is _exactly_ what she means.

His mouth goes dry at the thought of her stroking herself, maybe using her fingers plunge inside, and he has to readjust himself in his jeans. He thinks about playing it cool, but fuck that. Girl’s got a right to know how sexy she is.

“Sorry. That’s fucking hot,” he confesses, then looks her straight in the eye. “Bet I could do better, though.”

“Do you really…” she blushes and can’t finish her question, but he knows what she’s asking. Knows he should answer her with the same honesty she asked, but can’t stop himself from sleazing it up, making the play, bagging the chick.

“Come here, baby, and I’ll show you.”

Emma scrambles to her feet, but stops to glare at him from the doorway. “It’s like a disease with you, isn’t it? The minute you act like a human, you have to be asshole to balance it.   I don’t date fuckboys, Miles Matheson, no matter how good they are with their tongues.”

He’s still blinking in shock when the door slams behind her, and he sits out the rest of his detention in the storeroom, nothing to do except plan his next trip with Bass and jerk off.

By the time Dick opens the door, he’s figured out their overnight stops all the way to Florida, and exhausted the box of Kleenex he’d found in the corner.

And when he sees her face again, it’s overlaid with the fantasy that had made him spurt all over his fucking shirt.

This girl, spread out on their back seat. Bass behind her, twisting at her pretty pink nips as Miles discovers that, down south, the carpet definitely matches the drapes.

He can see the pores on her skin and her sweet tang in his mouth and it feels real, so, so real that he’s half convinced it’s a vision of their future. No one with that much fire is gonna stay a good girl forever, and if she wants to walk on the wildside, she could do worse than him and Bass.

Emma, he thinks. Her name is Emma.

They’re all shuffling out of school at six o’clock when he grabs her hand and makes her hang back with him for a second.

“Just wanted to say – I’m sorry,” he forces out of his dry throat. “You’re kinda cool and I was a dick.”

A long, gold-coloured Mercedes has just rolled to a stop a few metres away, but she ignores it to stand on tiptoe and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You really were. Thanks for the apology – makes me feel better.”

He’s still thinking about that as he hands her into the car – what, he has manners, he just doesn’t choose to use the all that often – then closes the door behind her. The window whooshes down a moment later, and her voice catches on the breeze as the car starts to move.

“Because I was pretty sure you could.”

Miles drags his coat around him and heads out into the freezing Indiana afternoon. He keeps it in until he’s halfway across the football field, and the excitement surges through him, undeniable. It’s not exactly Calvins in ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night, but he can work with that. He actually _wants_ to work for that.

Wait ‘til he tells Bass, he thinks, a smile pulling at his lips. He probably knows Emma already, big jock on campus and all. Maybe they can double date with that girl he’s seeing. Maybe all three of them can hang out and see just how dirty a good girl wants to get.

Yeah, ‘cause you’re so hopeless you can’t even tie your shoes without your boyfriend, his Dad’s hate-filled voice suddenly interjects. His mood wobbles for a moment, but fuck him, he’s not stealing this, spoiling this like he has to spoil everything else. He likes her, and she likes him. All he has to do now is ask her out on a fucking date, and stuff all his crap far enough down that it doesn’t vomit all over her the minute he opens his mouth.

He do it Monday, he promises himself, assuming she’s still talking to him then. They hadn’t made any promises but ‘I was thinking about how your tongue might feel in my pussy’ had to count for something, right?

Oh yeah, he’s in, he’s almost at the home plate with this one (fucking baseball) and the excitement surges up through him, and he finds himself punching the air like some pussy in a bad teen movie. He looks around, hoping no one saw because Jesus, he’d never live it down, but fuck it, something finally went _right_ for Miles Matheson.

Her name is Emma, and she’s hot as hell and he’ll let her set the pace and all that shit, but something tells him sometime soon? He’s gonna make her call his name all night long.


	2. Bass

Miles doesn’t get drunk for a full two months after he starts going out with Emma. He emerges from his pot haze long enough for Bass to remember exactly why they were best friends, and just how much fun Miles could be when his devilish mind was firing on all cylinders.

They’ve planned every detail for the road trip they plan on taking after graduation, all the way across to DC to check out the military history museum at the Navy Yard, and then backroading all the way to Key West, where they planned to split their time between booze and babes in bikinis.

“What about Emma?” Bass had asked, knowing damn well what Miles was thinking and being perverse enough to want to make him ask. Sure, he’d prefer to have his best friend to himself for the trip they’d been talking about since they were freshmen, but if they had to have a girl along, it might as well be sweet, spunky Emma.

Miles had licked his lips and gone dizzy-eyed with lust. “She likes booze and I like the idea of her in a bikini,” he’d grinned.

“Or out of it,” Bass had added, because, yeah. Emma had this banging body - big, full tits over a tiny little waist that swelled out into the sweetest peach of an ass …

Not that he’d noticed. Much.

(Just every time they’d hung out at the lake together, her feet in Bass’ lap with her head in Miles as they smoked up together. Just that times he’d rolled in the window into Miles’ room to find his buddy nose-deep in pussy, Emma so far gone she hadn’t even been able to say anything but scream Miles’ name as he made her come and come and come. He’d let Miles hit him, after that, but it’d been worth every fucking second of the beating, the memory of the way she had scratched at her tits as he threw her over, her whole body arching up off the bed with the power of it. The look on Miles’ face as he rose from between her legs, face glistening and sticky, eyes black with triumph.)

And fuck. Now he’s hard again. Not useful, considering he’s tearing around the lake just a few minutes shy of midnight, looking for a scared girl by the side of the road. She’d said he taken them to the disused jetty near the old Matheson cabin, and he hasn’t been there in years, and isn’t completely sure of where the turn-off is.

This time, it’ll be his turn to kick ass, Bass fumes. Leaving Emma alone like that while he drowned himself in his pity party. She was worried about him throwing himself in the lake, the prick. Bass has seen enough of his bullshit over the years to be fairly sure that won’t happen.

Not until Bass is there to fish him out, at least.

It’s been less than a week since something happened at the Mathesons – he doesn’t dare ask what, but he knows the signs – and sad, angry Miles had come roaring back.

Emma had hiked up to the main road to call him from a payphone, scared out of her mind. Bass hadn’t even thought about it, just glanced at the clock and crept out the back way. His folks were cool, but past eleven on a schoolnight would have resulted in more questions than he had time to answer.

Bass is already decelerating when he catches sight of a pale blur under the trees at the side of a rutted track leading off the road. He jumps out of his Charger to check she’s okay, and she clings tight in her relief, all the while trying to hide the evidence that she’s been crying. She slides right up next to him as they bounce down the rutted track to the jetty, and peer out into the darkness together.

“He’s out there,” she sniffs, nodding towards the tiny figure at the end of the long dock. “I tried to get him to come and sit in the car, but he wouldn’t. It’s freezing out there, Bass!”

“You get back in my car and warm up. Keep the engine running,” Bass says as he breaks into a jog. He’ll decide whether he’s going to pull Miles away from the edge or push him in once he gets out there. Honestly, there’s a good case for both.

“What the fuck were you thinking, bringing Emma out here when you’re like this?” he attacks the minute he gets close enough for Miles to hear him. “It’s six below out here, and she may as well be on her own when you’re sitting on your drunk ass out here sulking!”

“She okay?” Miles slurs, and Bass has to fight down the surge of relief that he’s sober enough to react.

“Her boyfriend has abandoned her in the middle of the night at the fucking lake and she’s worried he’s going to do something stupid. What do you think, Miles?”

He lifts his head and squints through his long, shaggy fringe. “Emma’s a good girl. Should be with you, not me,” he mumbles. “You’d treat her right.”

Bass rolls his eyes at the same old, same old. Whenever Miles gets a girlfriend worth having, he pushes her away. It’s as if only the ones willing to screw him over are worthy of the great black cloud that is Miles Matheson.

Miles hangs over his shoulder, puffing cheap whiskey and good weed right into his face as he attempts to whisper. “No good to her like this. You should show her.”

“Show her what, moron?”

“How much better than me you are. You know. In the sack.”

Woah.

“And now I know just how fucking high you are. Get in the car, Miles.”

“Nah. Like it here. Quiet. And I know you think about it. ‘Bout her.”

“Your girlfriend is hot, Miles, so of course I think about it. Doesn’t mean I’d do it,” he snaps, digging in his heels in a bid to get some traction to haul Miles away from the end of the dock. It doesn’t work.

“I think about it too.   You and her. You and me and her.”

And … fuck.

He’s just going to pretend he didn’t hear that.

(Pretend he doesn’t have that one on high rotation in the spank bank, over and over and over, the fastest route to ohmyGodfuckYES.)

Problem is, Miles is peering at him as if he expects an actual answer and this isn’t one of those hypothetical conversations you blunder into when shooting the shit, it’s an actual question about an actual girl who is standing at the other end of the dock, shivering, because she’s fallen in love with this messed up idiot.

And his heart bleeds for her, because he knows what love feels like, and he’s pretty sure Miles just … doesn’t. Wants to, but has a giant hole where the necessary equipment is.

So maybe he should …

But Miles obviously doesn’t mind …

Nah. Miles is talking about bringing her on the road trip with them, for Chrissakes. How messy would that be if he had taken advantage of something stupid Miles had said when he was really drunk.

Real messy, Bass tells himself. Beyond messy. Two guys, one girl, five thousand miles in an old Charger with a too wide back seat …

She sneaks up on cats feet and tucks a hand under his bicep, and the other around Miles’ waist. “Come on. It’s warm in Bass’ car. We can cuddle in the back.”

“All three of us,” Miles slurs, and Emma shoots Bass a curious glance before nodding warily. “Okay. But quickly, before the warmth gets out.”

They walk him up the jetty, supporting him either side, and dump him into the back seat.

“Is he gonna throw up?” Emma asks gingerly, and Bass nods.

“Figure we’ve got an hour before we get to that, but yeah. Everywhere. So we can’t take him home until all that’s done with, or his Dad will lose it. Just have to drive around, I guess. Shame it’s so fucking cold.”

Emma chews at her lip for a moment, then shrugs.

“My parents are away for the weekend. We could head back there.”

Bass looks at her for a minute, wondering what the hell they were doing all the way out here if they had a nice, cosy bedroom to cuddle up in, then shrugs. Not his business. (Miles. Miles being a fuckwit again, trying to ruin his good thing.)

Why he can’t just appreciate a girl like this …

“Okay then.”

They stumble into the living room together, and dump Miles on the couch with a bucket close by. “I better get a towel or something, in case he makes a mess,” Emma says, and makes her way towards the stairs.

“I’ll help you,” Bass offers, and follows her up.

The towels aren’t in her bedroom. He knows that. But he follows her in there anyway.

“You should get some rest. I’ll sack out downstairs with dickhead … can I grab a blanket?”

“I heard what he said, you know. What you both said.”

Bass freezes.

“I was a virgin before Miles. He talks about you and girls all the time. Like you’d let him watch or something.”

Not girls like you, he wants to say. “Sometimes.”

“Would you let him watch us?”

“Would you want him to?”

Emma turns to him and drops the blanket in her arms. Reaches for the bottom of her sweater and lifts it up over her head. She has a long-sleeved t-shirt on underneath, maybe even a thermal under that, but he can still see the hard bumps of her nipples, high and proud.

“Not this time,” she says, and whips it over her head.


	3. Emma

They’re friends. Best friends, she reminds herself. Of course they’re close. But the thing about Miles and Bass is that they’re hardly ever apart and when they are … Bass is all Miles ever seems to want to talk about.

Sure, they talk about music, and how lame school is, and what a dick Dick Vernon is. Detention and the road trip and whether she should go East after graduation or stay closer to home. He and Bass are joining the Marines, she knows that. It’s always been their plan, Miles grins.

She should have a comeback for that, something about the booze and the weed, but all she can think is that she’d like to be a part of their plan, too.

And when Miles gets drunk or high, it doesn’t take long for his one-track mind to suggest how.

“He likes you, babe,” he slurs, and “Bass is even better at this than I am.”

She doesn’t even have to ask how he knows this, thanks to the gossip in the bathroom at school. The mean girls would be so pissed if only they knew just how helpful they’d been. Miles had put the idea in her head, but Tracy’s clique had confirmed her suspicions: more than one girl had slept with Bass while Miles watched. Or vice versa.

And she doesn’t know about those girls, but Emma has thought long and hard about why she’d even consider doing that.

One, Miles obviously wants her to. (Shut up, it’s a valid reason.) Two, it would bring them all closer together. Three …

Bass is golden and beautiful and she loves Miles, truly she does, but she’d be a liar if she said doesn’t get shivers just thinking about touching the prettiest boy she’s ever seen. She doesn’t think he could possibly be better – honestly, Miles rocks her world – but she’s pretty sure it would be good, at least.

Probably really good, she admits, breathless. And then there’s reason number four. Or is it goal number one, some cynical part of her whispers, that wicked thing Miles has been pushing for all along.

She should hate the way he tries to manipulate here, licking her into a frenzy and then whispering his dirty suggestions until they are all she can think about. One behind her, one in front, brown eyes verging on black meeting the bluest of blue, both of them conspiring to drive her out of her mind. One hand clutching helplessly at long, shaggy black hair, and the other tangled in wild dark blonde curls, her throat raw from begging, her brain not even sure which name to scream.

And she knows where it has to start. Bass is the gentleman, the one with the good sense and old-fashioned values. Bit fond of rescuing damsels, but basically a good guy. Would never do anything to hurt his friend.   And she wonders about that too. Sometimes she is sure Bass is more in love with Miles than she is.

But his eyes still travel over her, full of heat, and that night a month ago, she had ended up in his lap while they were playing Gran Turismo. He’d been hard as a rock underneath her, and the way Miles had watched them, furtive and hungry … maybe she’d played up to it, a bit. Wriggled more than she needed do. Flung her arms around his neck for a long hug when she won. Wondered just how far she could go before Miles would object.

Pretty damn far, it turns out.

So when Bass comes charging out of the cold to rescue her, when he talks Miles back from the brink and shepherds them both back to town, when he follows her upstairs and asks if he can help, that sweet, well-brought-up boy … she leads him into her bedroom. Takes off her shirt.

Shimmies backwards on the bed, and lets him tug her jeans free of her body, her panties going with them.

Pulls him up for a kiss, sliding her hand into the gape of his jeans to stroke his cock. She hasn’t got any condoms – Miles usually takes care of that – but by the time he pulls his fingers out of her hungry sex, she doesn’t give a damn about that. She just wants him deep, as soon as he can possibly get there, as hard as he can go, as long as he can last.

And as she comes, milking him of what feels like a hot river deep inside her, she calls his name, over and over again. “Bass. Bass. Bass.”

Her fickle, traitorous brain, though, is wondering how Miles is doing downstairs. Wondering if he cares what he’s missing. Wondering who he’d watch, if he was sitting in the chair at the end of the bed.

“Calvins in a ball on the front seat, past eleven on a schoolnight,” he’d taunted her, that first day they’d met, and she’d been pretty much scandalised that he would say that, just pull those images from the air and fill her head with them.

Prude, she thinks angrily. So fucking pristine.

It was easier to be that girl. Simpler. But once you’d tasted the apple, gulped down the sweet wine, bathed in the sin and splashed it all over, you had to face facts. She had traded pastel pink for a scarlet letter the minute she had agreed to go out with Miles Matheson, according to every last person in Jasper.

Including Miles, she thought bitterly. Bass might be the only other person who saw something worth loving in him, so this wasn’t as insane as it seemed. It was almost natural, the beloved of my beloved and all that. They understood each other.

Who else, after all, could know how it felt have Miles call your name? The rush of it, the power, right up to the moment he pulled your strings to make you dance.

_fin_

 


End file.
